


The Worst/Best Day Ever

by thebest_medicine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, Team Free Will, Tickle fic, Tickling, Ticklish Dean, spells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 15:39:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3387125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebest_medicine/pseuds/thebest_medicine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys are hunting witches when Dean is hit with a spell that makes him physically feel certain words that are said aloud around him, like ‘hurt’… and ‘tickle’.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Worst/Best Day Ever

Today had to be the worst day of Dean Winchester’s life.

It started with witches. Two of them, actually. Not that they’d known that coming into the hunt. There had been some strange miracles, bizarre occurrences, and a few murders in town that seemed…not quite right, and to go with it, a woman who was loved by most and did not take disloyalty well. She seemed a prime suspect for the Winchesters, and the job seemed pretty cut and dry. That is, until they found out she had a twin sister.

Did he mention how much he hates witches?

Sam had been sneaking around through the back door when Dean barged through the front….and right into some kind of spell. It was a powder of some sorts, and as one of the witches chanted a hex at him, Sam whipped into the room with his gun and took the other out with a few shots. The casting witch turned around with a shriek of horror at her dead sister, but her anguish was short lived as Sam pumped a few bullets through her as well.

Dean felt woozy, but he didn’t seem to have any other effects from the spell. He wasn’t choking or dying or turned into a frog, so he figured he could count this one as a win.

And then he saw Sam fading away as he fell to the ground, everything going black as his brother ran over to him.

…

"Dean! Dean are you alright?" Sam’s voice faded in, a distorted but familiar sound as Dean’s eyes blinked open, adjusting to the light.

"What- What the hell?" Dean mumbled, "What happened?" He still felt a bit dizzy but otherwise unharmed. The ceiling came into focus as he stared up, realizing he was laying on the couch of the bunker. Sam was leaning over him with a concerned look in his eyes.

Sam took his eyes off Dean for a moment, looking over the couch and toward the doorway, “Cas, he’s up.”

"Oh, good. Is he hurt?" Castiel’s voice came from behind the couch along with a rush of footsteps.

A soreness surged through Dean’s head at that; he grunted, grabbing his head instinctively, “Shit, fuck. My head.”

"Yeah, I think he’s hurt." Sam scanned his brother.

Another pain seeded itself in his stomach, making him curl inward and wrap his arms around his middle, “Fuck. What’s happening?” Dean groaned.

"What’s hurting you?" Cas asked, finally coming into Dean’s view.

"Ahhh-" Dean cried out when pain struck his chest, and for a moment he felt as though he were having a heart attack, "Stop talking." He winced.

Sam and Cas were both quiet for a moment, and the ensuing silence caused the pain to dissipate, going away as quickly as it had come on. Dean coughed, finally able to move without feeling pain surge through him.

"I think, the spell. Every time you said hurt I- ow- crap!" Dean grabbed at his stomach again, "Okay- don’t say that. Those twin witch bitches pulled some crap on me." He coughed again, trying to catch his breath.

"Do you need some water?" Cas asked.

"No I’m fine." Dean grumbled, "Someone just figure out what the hell is going on and how to reverse it."

"We’ve been hitting the books since I got you home, but now that we have a little more to go on, we can probably figure this out." Sam replied, "Why don’t you try sitting up?"

Sam helped his brother into a more upright position on the couch, and Dean fell into another coughing fit, “What the hell- this sucks.” Dean groaned.

"Tickle in your throat?" Sam asked, "We can get you some- Dean? Are you okay?"

Dean curled forward the second Sam spoke as a weird, tingling sensation rippled across his stomach.

Sam blinked, worrying that he’d caused Dean more pain somehow, “I don’t think I said- is that- all I asked was if you have a tickle in-“

"Sam!" Dean choked out, finally pulling his head up to look at his brother and the angel. He was…smiling?

"What just happened? I didn’t hear him say anything wrong." Cas interjected, "Are you okay?"

"M’fine, just don’t say that again, Christ." Dean took a deep breath.

"Say what?" Sam asked, "Was it because I-" He stopped, looking Dean straight in the eyes.

A small smirk twitched on the edge of Sam’s lips.

"Don’t you fucking dare, Sammy." Dean warned.

"Tickle." Sam spoke deliberately.

Dean’s eyes went wide, and he buckled forward, a small giggle leaving his mouth as he fought against the tingly, tickly feeling traversing just under his skin, “Sam don’t-“

"Tickle." Sam grinned, "Tickle, tickle, tickle."

Dean let out a squeak now, blushing, and kicked his feet against the couch as the sensation spread to them as well as up his ribs, “Sam stahahop saying thahahat! Cas- hehelp!” It felt like tiny fingers, or maybe feathers, or maybe both - Dean wasn’t really paying that much attention to that aspect of it - were fluttering all across his skin.

Cas had watched the whole ordeal with a tiny smirk growing on his lips, “I didn’t know you were ticklish, Dean.”

"You’re nahahot helping-" Dean whined, curling into a ball on the couch as the feeling surged through him again, increasing in intensity every time one of them said it.

"Does it tickle when I say the word tickle?" Sam teased.

The feeling rippled up his ribs and under his arms, making Dean slam his arms down against his sides, which did…absolutely nothing to stop the sensations.

"That’s adorable, tickling you without even having to tickle you.” Sam chuckled, “I could do this for hours.”

"He does seem quite ticklish though, he would probably have some trouble breathing if you kept tickling him for that long." Cas advised, speaking as though there wasn’t a giggling, squirming hunter on the couch. The sensation jumped down to his feet now, swirling between his toes and making him scrunch and giggle, pressing his feet into the couch.

"Guys stahahahop!" Dean pleaded, his face red. The unpredictable, unstoppable tickling feeling apparently wasn’t bad enough, because he got to experience that along with that stupid word from his brother and Cas. As if he weren’t embarrassed enough already.

"Stop what? Tickling you?” Sam grinned.

The tickling was steadily working its way through his ticklish spots, jumping from feet to stomach to knees to armpits and everywhere in between, and Dean was having trouble keeping his thoughts in order between the blushing and the constant laughing.

"Does it tickle too much, Dean?” Cas mused.

"Ohmygohohod, guys stahahahop it!" Dean wished he could curl into a ball and block out everything, the feeling, the teasing, the embarrassment.

But their taunting just got more constant, asking him things like “Where is it tickling you?” and “How bad does it tickle?” and “Wow you’re really ticklish, Dean.” and it was driving him crazy.

Finally fed up with the taunting and teasing and tickling, Dean cried out, “STOP TICKLING ME!”

And immediately, he squealed and began cackling with laughter, clawing at his hips helplessly as the tickling sensation zeroed in on his worst spot.

Sam and Cas both laughed at Dean’s unfortunate discovery. Apparently, saying it louder made it tickle worse.

"What’s wrong, Dean? Does saying TICKLE louder make it TICKLE more?" Sam laughed, deliberately raising his voice at the word.

"It’s interesting that the decibel of the word TICKLE has such an effect." Cas suppled.

"PLEHEHEHEASE-" Dean cried, "Stahahahop- gimme a sehehecond, I cahahan’t-"

Sam and Cas agreed with a purposeful look to stop teasing Dean for a brief moment, which he gratefully took to catch his breath and calm himself down.

"You are both dicks." Dean glared up at them after a minute or two, "I hate you."

"You do not." Sam smiled, poking his side and making him jump, "And don’t make me tickle you until you admit you love us both."

Dean tried to suppress a laugh at the squeezing tickle he felt on his sides.

"Whehere are you going?" Dean sat up to see his brother walking out of the room.

"To figure out how to fix you, Giggles." Sam teased, "But until I do, you may have to deal with a little tickling."

Dean curled forward again, Cas sitting beside him on the couch to rub his back soothingly as he rode out the intangible tickle attack on his stomach.

…

Two days had passed, and Dean figured that his worst day ever was going to extend to his worst week ever. Luckily, both Sam and Cas were very careful about inquiring for any kind of injuries, trying not to cause Dean any pain until they could sort out this spell.

But on the other hand… Sam and Cas were relentless, using as many expressions as possible that included the word tickle or some variation thereupon.

"Cas, have you ever played the piano before?" Sam would ask.

"No, I have heard it played but I’ve never really had opportunity to play any human instruments," Cas would answer.

"Oh, well I’ve been thinking about getting one for the bunker, add a little music to the place and give you a chance to tickle the ivories." Sam would reply, trying to keep the smirk off his face when Dean would double over.

Another time, Sam would ask, “I made some coffee, Cas, would you like some?”

"Oh, thank you, Sam, I would just be tickled pink." Cas would graciously take the mug while Dean wrapped his arms around his stomach and snorted.

And every damn time Sam or Dean or Cas would cough, it would be met with, “Oh, you a tickle in your throat?” And Dean would lose himself with giggles, scrunching up his neck.

Other times, they would be more direct.

Sam ambushed Dean the morning before, opening the door to his bedroom slowly before shouting, “TICKLE, TICKLE, Dean! Time to get up!”

Dean woke with a startled cackle as ticklish sensations raced under his skin and over all of his bad spots.

There were several direct attacks out of the blue as well. Dean was sitting down to watch tv last night when Cas had walked up and say down beside him, smirking as he asked Dean if he was “still extremely ticklish”, to which Dean replied with a cackling laugh.

…

This morning, Dean was in the kitchen cooking some breakfast; he’d eventually decided on eggs and waffles after examining the fridge, and he had a hot pan of steaming scrambled eggs in front of him with a few waffles in the toaster. He hummed to himself as he whirled the spatula around, cooking the eggs thoroughly. After about a half an hour alone in the kitchen, a groggy Cas padded up behind him.

"Don’t." Dean warned, not even bothering to turn around, "I am armed with a burning frying pan and I am not afraid to use it."

"What if," Cas smiled to himself, "I just say it really quietly."

"I won’t let you have any eggs." Dean insisted, "They’re delicious."

"I don’t require food, Dean." Cas reminded him.

Dean faltered, “F-Fine, your loss.” The hairs on the back of his neck stood up when Cas got close enough to wrap his arms around the hunter from behind.

"Stop it, I’m trying to cook." Dean rolled his eyes.

"I’m not stopping you." Cas smiled, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, "Just came in for some coffee, and to tickle you a little." He added quietly, his voice muffled against Dean’s skin.

Dean’s face turned red as a light, tingly feeling traveled around the back and sides of his neck. He fought off the giggly, butterfly feeling in his stomach, “Cahas.”

"It doesn’t tickle too bad when I say it quietly, right?" Cas asked.

"I guhuhuess-" Dean giggled, checking the eggs one last time before scraping them onto a large plate. Truth be told, the more muted sensations actually felt pretty good, not that Dean would really admit to that. Actually, when he really thought about it, he didn’t mind most of this ordeal, but he really didn’t want to think too hard about that.

Sam joined them after waking up to the smell of breakfast wafting through the halls and soon joined them in the kitchen. Dean got through the meal without being submitted to the ghostly tickles mainly due to his threat of never cooking breakfast for Sam again if he dare says the t-word.

It was later in the day when Sam ambushed him, sneaking up behind Dean when his head is buried in a book and shouting “tickle” so loudly that he fell straight out of the chair cackling as invisible fingers raked up and down his ribs and soles.

"Sahahahaham this isn’t funnyhehe! Stahahahop!" Dean demanded, squirming on the floor in an admittedly adorable manor.

"It’s hilarious, if you ask me." Sam grinned, "Can’t even stop the feelings tickling you, must be ticklish hell, Dean.”

"Wehehell I’m damn glahahad that’s not a rehehe-hehe real plahace!" Dean snorted when the sensations raced up behind his knees and under his arms, "Sahahammy!"

Sam let his brother come down from the feeling without saying that word to trigger the feeling again, for now.

"What all do you have on getting rid of this anyway?" Dean panted.

Sam looked away, “Well…”

"Well, what?" Dean sat up.

Sam blinked, “I haven’t really been looking too much into this.. We have some other pretty important things to work on. Since this spell isn’t doing anything really negative as long as we watch what we say..”

"Yet you seem to keep saying…that word." Dean huffed.

"Oh come on, what’s a little tickling compared to, like, the apocalypse." Sam rolled his eyes, laughing when Dean jolted forward, grabbing his sides and unsuccessfully glaring up at Sam with a smile on his face.

"I hate you."

…

That evening, Dean crawled into bed after receiving his sixth random tickle attack that day. He blushed, thinking about the whole ordeal. This was hopeless. Of course it had to be someone saying that word that triggered all of this in the first place, as if being completely incapacitated with laughter by an unstoppable and unseen force wasn’t embarrassing enough.

Cas entered the room a short while after, walking up to the bed and taking a seat next to Dean, “I know you’re still awake.” He hummed.

Dean started out trying to snark back, “What, you come to- to you know…” His retort fell short.

"I came to tell you I realized something," Cas smiled, "As fun as it is to watch you squirm and see you laugh…" Dean blushed.

"I think I prefer the physical contact that comes from the actual act, rather than simply incapacitating you with a spoken word." Cas reached out with a bit of trepidation, trailing his fingers over Dean’s side, whose skin twitched at the contact.

"And I think you might prefer that too." Cas smirked, fluttering his fingers down over Dean’s tummy.

Dean giggled, rolling onto his back, “Cahas..” He wasn’t exactly sure what he was asking for, and he just knew that the light, feelings coming from Cas’ hand felt good, keeping him just on the brink of giggling.

"I’ll make sure that Sam and I start looking more thoroughly in the morning, we’ll find a way to reverse the spell." Cas laid on the bed, wiggling his fingers on the back of Dean’s neck as he snuggled up behind him.

"In the morning, hmm?" Dean half-grinned, "You have plans for tonight, then?"

"Well, it would be helpful to gather more intel about the the spell, perhaps if certain tones affect different areas," Cas supplied, trying to keep his voice as serious and studious as possible to hide how eager he was, "We do already know that volume has an effect."

Dean squirmed with anticipation while Cas pulled him closer, smiling when he started to whisper, “Tickle tickle, Dean.”

Dean blushed, feeling a tingling tickle run down his back and behind his ears and knees. It swirled, tickling just enough to make him grin but not quite cause him to laugh aloud, “Cas..” He whined, curling his toes and kicking his feet lightly to distract himself from the feeling.

"What, Dean? Does it tickle?" Cas smirked, a little louder, and with a little more tease in his voice.

The feeling shot to his stomach and vibrated all across it, wiggling between his ribs. Dean pulled his arms down to his sides, wrapping them around his middle as he tried to somehow block the sensations out of instinct, “Cahahahas!” Dean giggled, “Stahahahop it!”

"You don’t mean that," Cas nuzzled into Dean’s neck, keeping him trapped in his arms, "Do you, Dean?"

Dean blushed further, but he didn’t answer, opting instead to continue laughing quietly as the feeling started to subside.

"You’re simply too ticklish, can’t handle being tickled so much, can you?" Cas said pointedly, pressing a kiss behind Dean’s ear as the intangible tickles began to wiggle between his toes and scribble up and down his feet. Dean kicked more then, yelping at the new sensation as he dissolved into laughter.

…

The rest of the night had gone like that, Cas holding and cuddling and whispering while Dean laughed and squirmed. They’d determined that the tone of voice definitely had an effect on the type of tickling; more teasing in the voice tended to result in more playful tickling, which both of them seemed to like, though Dean’s favorite was probably the quiet, gentle whispers that Cas had made just before they’d gone to sleep, which caused a tingly, tickly feeling that left Dean giggling lightly and smiling into his pillow.

Morning brought a hazy Dean from his slumber, just in time for him to blink his eyes open to a grinning Sam plopping on the bed in front of him, “What the hell?” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes. He turned to see Cas smirking next to him, and he was immediately more alert, “What’s going on?”

"Oh nothing, just waking you up." Sam grinned.

Dean’s eyes widened, “No- wait- I’m awake! You dicks- dohon’t!”

"We’re not even tickling you yet- oops!" Sam laughed in time with his brother who clamped his arms to his sides at the feeling of wiggling fingers under his arms.

"Tickle, tickle, tickle, Dean…" Cas hummed softly, causing those gentle, light tickles all over his neck and back. Dean’s brain didn’t even know how to register the conflicting sensations, so he just laughed.

"TICKLE TICKLE, aw does that TICKLE, Dean?" Sam shouted, flopping on top of his brother to keep him more still as he kicked and squirmed.

"Guhuhuhuys stahahahop!" Dean cried as his hips fell under attack as well, "Nohohoho! This is sohohoho unfair!"

"I think it’s pretty fair, you used to TICKLE me all the time when I was little, Dean." Sam laughed.

Dean was practically losing his mind, Sam shouting that word over and over causing ticklish attacks all over his bad spots while Cas whispered it softly and light tingles enveloped the rest of him.

Just when he thought he was about to go crazy, they stopped, and Dean quickly regained his composure, “You guys are seriously dicks.” He huffed, “And I’m so getting you back once this crap is over.”

Dean had tried one retaliation attack, the second day of the spell, to his brother, who had been yelling tickle from the kitchen while he whipped up a sandwich, knowing Dean was in the other room. Dean had ambushed him, making him lose the sandwich, and tickling him in earnest for all of thirty seconds before Sam remembered that he had the upper hand. A few cries of “Stop tickling me, Dean!” and “You’re the ticklish one!” had Dean sputtering backwards and keening forward with laughter.

"Nohoho- Sam don’t!" Dean begged, "I’ll stahahop- I’m sorryhehehe!"

"That’s more like it, you ticklish jerk." Sam stood himself up and brushed off his shirt, "You owe me a sandwich, by the way."

And that had been the last of Dean’s attempts at revenge, at least for now. Once the spell was gone, it was open season.

…

Through a few hours of book work and a run for supplies, Sam and Cas finally came up with a means to end the spell, albeit reluctantly.

"Dean, we’re ready." Cas called to him.

Dean stepped into the room, a grin on his face, “Finally.”

"You sure you want us to?" Sam teased, noting that his classic bitchface must be genetic by the scowl on Dean’s face.

"Let’s get this over with." He mumbled.

Sam hesitated, “Before we do…”

Cas looked pointedly at Dean, a small smile playing at his lips.

"Hell no- don’t you even-" Dean was already smiling.

"But you’re just so ticklish, it’s not going to be nearly as fun once you’re back to normal." Sam started.

"Whehehen has a witch ever done somethihihing that didn’t turn out hahahorribly? This hahahas a lot of downsides toohohoo!" Dean countered.

"Too?" Cas beamed, "So you do think that this tickling part is one of the upsides."

Dean felt his cheeks heat up, “Behehehetter than what happened thehehe first dahay!”

"Aww, Dean’s just a big, ticklish softie." Sam teased.

"Cahahan’t we get on with ihihit?" Dean whined, giggling at the residual feelings once Cas and Sam had stopped using the word.

"Okay, fine." Sam sighed, "But- you have to promise us no revenge."

"Screw that, you bitches deserve it!" Dean tired to glare.

"Fine…" Sam resigned, "But not today! We are just going to watch a movie and relax."

Dean rolled his eyes, “Fine. Fix me.”

Sam performed the counter spell with Castiel’s assistance, and another powder was blown at Dean’s face. He sat for a moment, unmoving, “Did it work?”

"I don’t know, does it still tickle?" Sam half-smirked.

Dean blushed and braced himself for the unstoppable feeling, but it never came, “No! It doesn’t! Awesome!”

…

Dean and Cas took the couch that night, with Sam on the chair next to them, having sat down once he popped in the next movie. A few hours of relaxing was really something the three of them needed. Dean glanced at his phone on the side table of the couch for the fourth or fifth time that night.

"What’s going on, you never check your phone that often." Sam asked, speaking up about his brother’s odd behavior.

"Guess what time it is, Sammy?" Dean smirked.

"I dunno, around 11?"

"11:59." Dean replied, looking from Cas to his brother, "And oh, look at that, now it’s midnight."

Sam squinted at him, as did Cas in a bit of confusion.

Dean grinned, “That means it’s tomorrow, and revenge is fair game.”


End file.
